Chapter 1: Work
As of this moment in time, my actual occupation is Assistant Principal of a very small public school in a very small school district in Florida. This is a job to which I have aspired since the very first time that I had a student in my class smart off at me and get away with it because my school’s administrators lacked the energy or creativity to do anything about it.
Being AP is alternately cool and miserable. It is cool when some 12 year old twit decides to call you an “a-hole” because you required him to follow a basic school rule and his parents ask you to give him “licks.” (This is a delightful southern colloquialism used to describe corporal punishment – yes, it is still legal in some areas – and I’ll note that the school district in question, where corporal punishment is still used, is currently ranked the number one school district in Florida, and was recently recognized by US News & World Report in the top schools in the nation list. Short-form: Licks are a good thing (unless you’re on the receiving end, in which case, it depends from whom you receive them).)
Being an AP is also cool when you’ve got a faculty full of teachers who actually want to do and be the best that they possibly can – teachers who love kids and want to see them reach their potential. There is nothing cooler than having a teacher whom you consider absolutely first rate come into your office and ask for suggestions on how she can improve on something she’s doing, because she values your opinion, or at least respects your position enough to ask for advice. Whatever else I might have to say for my current school district, I must say we’ve got amazing teachers and the very worst of them is better than some of the best they had in my last school district. (Whoops… think I just burned a bridge, darn it.)
What could possibly be miserable about being an assistant principal, you ask, especially in such an awesome school? Well, let me share a recent day-in-the-life of me, and perhaps you can glean my point.
5:30 a.m. – get up, get the kids up, try to get ready to go without getting breakfast, toothpaste, makeup, or whatever happens to be on my four-year-old’s hands on my over-priced beige suit.
6:15 a.m. – see the teenagers off to seminary, while trying to make sure all of the animals (including the 4 year old) are fed, while simultaneously e-mailing testing log-in codes to all of the reading, math and science teachers in 5th through 8th grades so that the early birds won’t panic when they get to work before I’ve sent them out.
7:00 a.m. – catch pocket of beige suit jacket on protrusion on livestock gate which encloses our driveway – and frantically rush back into the house to change.
7:20 a.m. – mentally throttle the actual mother of the 3 year old with strawberry applesauce on her hands who mistakes me for her own mother and desperately clings to the legs of my cream colored slacks, thereby eliminating any hope of looking remotely professional for the rest of the day. (The actual mother somehow foresaw this fiasco, I’m sure, and managed to escape the daycare unscathed while I will spend the rest of the day wearing her child’s breakfast!)
7:35 a.m. – drop my purse in my office, and collect the pile of phone messages from disgruntled parents who disapprove of how I did my job yesterday, who left messages to that effect on the receptionists’ answering machine last night. Throw the messages in the trash just to avoid telling the parents what I really think, thereby accelerating my arrival in the unemployment line.
7:45 a.m. – take my post supervising breakfast in the cafeteria just in time to witness a 6th grader tossing his cookies all over the table and risk tossing my own while I’m trying to wipe it up before it becomes an epidemic. Get screamed at by a pair of 10th and 11th graders who think the stench should be justification for them to leave the cafeteria and wander the campus unsupervised for the next half hour. Call for the dean to come and collect them, just to learn that he hasn’t actually made it in to work yet, and probably won’t be in before 10. Tell one 13 year old 5th grader to sit down exactly 17 times before making the mental decision to write him up just as soon as I get back to civilization. Pull one 15 year old girl off the lap of her 18 year old boyfriend. Spend 15 minutes being glared at by the voluntarily self-segregating “Gray Hoodie Gang” because I had the audacity to ask them not to shout at each other across the table. Decide that it is entirely too noisy to possibly hear the bell ring and “accidentally” dismiss the cafeteria crowd to their respective first period classes 2 minutes before the bell will actually ring.
8:15 a.m. – 11:00 a.m.– go to the 5th grade classroom where I have been assigned to spend half of my day teaching 12 struggling students how to read. Of course, I’m not in an actual classroom – I’m in the old teacher’s lounge, which has no working heat or air conditioning, or even suitable furnishings, or any actual books other than the ones I brought from home, but at least I did manage to get rid of the incredibly noisy Coke machine that held court in the back third of the room for half the year. This is actually the better part of my day, in spite of the fact that I have the considerable joy of sharing this time with the aforementioned 13 year old 5th grader, along with several of his most obnoxious cohorts whose mothers just “happened” to forget their ADHD medication today. I secretly get a great deal of pleasure from knowing that on the days that I can hold them down for five minutes, I am going to squeeze some learning into the brains of some of the most challenging attitudes on the entire campus. Yes, it will take a wrestling match, but I can do it, and I do it well, so I love it. I don’t follow the prescribed plan though.
They gave me the scripted package that is “research-driven” and is supposed to produce guaranteed results. I've used it before. In my opinion, it is roughly the equivalent of tying a student down and slowly beating them to death with repeated floggings with raw strips of chicken breast.
The set looks really pretty on my shelf, where it is now working on its second inch-deep layer of dust. In it’s place on my desk, however, are a number of comic books, along with Beauty by Robin McKinley and The Last Book in the Universe by Rodman Philbrick. The kids absolutely love to be read to, and are learning, through the experience, that there is actually something to be found in between the covers of a book that is worth learning to read. The evidence that this is worthwhile? Well, of my 12 little darlings, two recently scored in the highest range possible on our school's progress monitoring test, both of them having begun the year in the lowest of the three ranges. Of the rest, more than half have moved up a full level, which in layman's terms means they've produced a years' worth of learning in about 6 months. But the best part - one of my little fellas has decided to read. He had a burgeoning ability last October. This week, I put Holes by Louis Sachar in his hand, and he hasn't put it back down since. This kid, who hasn't read one book all the way through (not even the Dr. Seuss ones) the entire year, actually asked me if I minded if he borrowed my book and took it home over the weekend! Needless to say, if he takes and passes the AR test on that book, it's going to be his forever. I couldn't be more thrilled.
Note - in case you're wondering what happened to my little timeline - it's not remotely uncommon for me to get off on a tangent, so if that annoys you... prepare to be well annoyed. For those of you who are pulling your hair out right about now, I'll try to be good and go back to my timeline.
11:00 - 11:25 - haul my stuff back to my office, and try to deflect the fury of the next round of disgruntled parents, and note that the sticky spots on my pants are now collecting lint, dirt, and general crud, to make the hand and cheek prints about five thousand times more obvious than they were before. Mutter some colorful metaphors under my breath.
11:25 - hurry to the cafeteria to direct 6th grade "Homework Lunch" - a delightful idea that requires silent lunch time for the 100 or so 6th grade students who have zeroes or missing assignments in their classes, so that they have an opportunity to make up the work. The weird part is that this leaves only about 20 kids who aren't obligated to participate in homework lunch, so it's held right in the cafeteria, since there isn't another place on campus where they'd all fit while they eat (except the auditorium, which is carpeted, and the football field, which doesn't lend itself well to managing behavior). After distributing their work lists, correcting seating arrangements for students who can't figure out how to stop talking, and collecting and signing off for a mountain of completed assignments, I make my way to the line and collect a plate full of rather unappealing things which I must wolf down in 15 minutes or less.
(Warning - I feel a tangent coming on!!)
I'll note, generally I am very well pleased by what is served in our school cafeteria. We usually have several great choices, and at least one of them is quite good. However, on Fridays we end up with a choice between pizza (Nardone's - no, I never heard of them either) which is unbelievably bland and flavorless (in spite of the cafeteria staff's best effort to spice it up), and either hot dogs or turkey and cheese subs, neither of which hold the slightest appeal to me. I am definitely a hot lunch kind of person, I guess.
11:50 - Leave the cafeteria and respond to a call for a pair of 5th graders fighting at p.e. I march the forty-seven miles down to the gym, collect the delinquents - a pair of feisty girls who are all nails and hair and spit, and drag them carefully, like a pair of wet cats, back to my office, so they can hiss at each other in private. Oh what joy. My favorite part about this is calling the parents, both of which believe that their child is the next incarnation of Jesus, and that they couldn't possibly have done anything I've described. Of course, neither girl takes credit for starting the fight, which is irrelevant since they're both getting suspended either way. So I give them a stern talking-to, which I hope gives them as big a headache as the one they're giving me, before handing them off to their parents, both of which inform me that I am either an idiot or an a-hole (without the abbreviating, of course), because I followed our policy and suspended them both for fighting.
12:30 - Make another middle school girl cry when I refuse to let her ride the school bus home to spend the night with her friend, on 2 hours notice. Once again - I get balled out (bawled out? I'm never sure about that) by a kid and a parent for enforcing standing policy. I do not know why it is so complicated for kids or parents either one to understand that if we just let any kid who wants to have a sleepover take 5 of her best girlfriends home on her school bus (which I guarantee you is already overcrowded due to the seating allowance expecting all students behinds to be the size of a 6 year old, even when they're 16, 6'4" and 300 pounds), the ride would be dangerous and would almost certainly lead to our losing a very painful lawsuit if an accident were to follow.
12:45 - Interview a potential substitute teacher candidate for a recommendation to the school board. This is particularly painful situation because I know we're desperate for subs, which are more rare than albino gators, but this is even worse because the candidate in question looks like he's about 19 (and of course I can't ask his actual age), and would easily blend in with the students. He's still pimply faced, and so eager that it's a little creepy, but it turns out that he's a college student studying to be a teacher, so I can't really find a valid reason to reject him. (That much said, I have to add that I was particularly disturbed later to find him escorting one of our students to the prom.... )
1:15 - Attempt to squeeze in a couple of classroom walk-throughs (a brief data-collecting observation), between the horde of kids coming to my office to buy tickets or ask questions about an upcoming middle school dance being sponsored by our school's PTO.
(ACK! Another tangent!!)
Here's the thing about our PTO. It's really more of a PATO (Parent Administrator Teacher Organization). We didn't have one at all until I got a bee in my bonnet about starting one last year in hopes of providing funds for student recognition and teacher appreciation. Our first year was pretty weak, but this year, we've raised quite a nice sum of money - enough to provide several months worth of student of the week prizes, as well as forking over a $500 cash scholarship to one of our seniors. What's interesting about that is that we've never had more than about six people show up at our meetings or actually contribute more than the membership fee. (However, this year, we had about 80 parents sign up who never came to a meeting or paid their membership fees - and 30 who never came, but DID pay.) We held two big events - a Masquerade in October, and the Spring Fling in April - both "dances" for the 5th and 6th grade students - which emphasized less dancing and more games and fun instead.
-- Totally separate rant: I really, really hate it when clubs or organizations sponsor dances for these little 10 and 11 year old kids, and force them to endure 2 or more hours of listening to raunchy rap or hip hop music, which 90% of them couldn't care less about, but show up so they can spend a couple of social hours with their friends. At the PTO events, I personally select all of the music, which wouldn't be offensive in a Sunday School classroom (unless you've got religious issues with the Chicken Dance), as well as a few games and contests to mix things up, and the kids always have a great time. Plus, we make several hundred dollars (mostly off concessions) each time we have these things, and the kids make a point of telling us that "this was the best dance ever!!" This only proves to me that those other organizations are only interested in taking the kids' money, and not remotely interested in ensuring that they're enjoying themselves. Rant over.
1:45 - Cover a high school class while the teacher attends a parent conference. (I really wish we could hire a full-time floating sub who would just do little things like this all day. We definitely could keep them busy. ) Endure the disgusted stares of a group of teenagers who apparently think I did something unfortunate in my pants which resulted in the gooey mess on my legs. Contemplate whether or not asking an unmarried administrator if she's pregnant is grounds for expulsion. Deciding it's not, I attempt to stare a hole in the perpetrator's forehead while I silently will the bell to ring.
2:10 - Cover the front desk and phone because the receptionist had to leave early. Field nine-thousand calls for kids to check out, at least half of which sound like they're being made by the students themselves. I still can't believe that we actually let kids check out, regardless of their age, without having an adult come into the building and sign for them. I hereby prophesy that this will one day result in something unfortunate which ends with a nasty, nasty lawsuit.
2:55 - Rush to the 5th grade building to escort the "walkers" across campus to the pick-up gate, and find that they were released early (or my watch is slow!), and they've already beaten me there. Then I stand at the gate and look intimidating to prevent any nonsense as kids head home. Silently, I am praying that none of the kids getting into the cars in the line here are actually being picked up by the 54 year old sexual predator that they met through MySpace, while their parents innocently wait at home expecting them to get off a bus. Then I catch a little kid writing on a post, which I spent hours scrubbing the graffiti off of last summer, and I spend the next 10 minutes making him cry as he contemplates what's going to happen after I call his mother and tell her that he's been vandalizing the school. Generally, I figure my tear- count for the day is maxed out at three o'clock, but this is one of those rare exceptions. This kid is such a good crier that I actually feel bad for him, and agree to let him wipe this one off and promise never to do it again, rather than keep him after school to scrub ALL off the posts, like I had just suggested.
3:30 - Finally make it back to my office where I desperately try to get some work graded for my 5th graders, and some plans in place for the next day, before I jump in my car at 4:30, and rush my 4 year old home, so that I can immediately return to supervise a baseball game which won't wrap up until almost 10. (Actually, the game will be over at about 9:05 - but it will be nearly 10 before the hordes have decided to stop jabbering and go home. If I could afford it, I'd buy the spot of land next to the ball fields and designate it the jawing spot, so that people could step across the property line and keep right on talking to their hearts' content, while those of us who are obligated to stand around and wait on the folks on school property finally get to go home at a reasonable hour.
10:15 - walk in my door, to find 2 loads of laundry needing folding, a sink full of dirty dishes, a 4 year old who didn't get his bath, and his sandy head, precious as it is, is now smearing chocolate pudding on MY pillow case, where he is sleeping. Look down and discover that someone's gummy worm has attached itself to one of the icky spots on my pants, and wonder just how many hours that friend has been traveling with me, before I hit the showers, inhale a midnight dinner and call it a day.... except then I remember that I haven't completed one of this week's assignments for the online reading endorsement class I'm taking (and of course it's due today), so I sit down to crank that out before falling asleep in front of my computer.
And in 5.5 hours, I'll get up and do it again.
